


Baby's First Words

by sadieb798



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Fluff, Happy, Johnlockary - Freeform, Love, Marriage, Multi, OT3, Parenthood, Polyamory, Triad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:10:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9301445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadieb798/pseuds/sadieb798
Summary: A snapshot into the lives of the Watson-Holmes family, with little Rosie at the center of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this during NaNoWriMo back when I still thought Rosie would be called Violet. Given the latest episode, I needed some happy OT3 in my life and thought you guys needed some too.

"Do you hear that, Rosie?" Sherlock asks the small ten month year old. John's daughter looks up at her second father curiously, blue eyes startlingly bright. "Did you hear what your ridiculous Papa just said?"

"Ba!" Rosie says in response, raising her tiny arms and slamming her small flat hands down onto Sherlock's dark trousers.

John rolls his eyes at the pair as they sit on the dark carpet. "It's not ridiculous if your partner wants your infant daughter to start Chemistry and you're just concerned about safety."

"We'll take the necessary precautions," Sherlock quickly reassures, Rosie currently trying to catch a tendril of her dada's hair in her grubby fist.

"Why not start early?" asks Mary from her chair, a deep olive color with a straight back and curved armrests. She glances up from her perusal of  _The Daily Mail_  and locks eyes with Sherlock, her own lit up with amusement. "Cooking is Chemistry - just with edible items."

Sherlock frowns in contemplation. The triad's daughter, bored with the lack of attention from the adults, finds sufficient entertainment with Billy the skull in her tiny hands. "I suppose," he begins. "My Chemistry set  _is_  already in the kitchen-"

"Just please don't use body parts in your cooking lessons with Rosie, okay?" John pleads from his spot on the ground opposite the detective. "I don't want our child to be exposed to dismembered organs until she's at least five."

"Why not start now?" Sherlock asks, genuinely curious. "I didn't see my first cadaver until I was nine; imagine what I could've learned had I seen one earlier."

"It  _would_  give Rosie a learning curve," Mary muses, tilting her head in contemplation without looking away from the paper.

"We're surrounded by lunatics, Rosie," John stage-whispers to the infant with a smile lighting up his face. He lays on his stomach in front of his daughter, holding out one of her many rattling toy bumblebees to her.

Rosie glances up from her study of the skull's eye sockets. She blinks her impossibly blue eyes up at her father before opening her pink mouth.

"Murder!" she exclaims.

Everyone stops and stares, the activity in the room drawing to an abrupt halt.

Mary blinks, her hands going lax, dropping the newspaper she'd been reading onto her lap. Sherlock's eyebrows raise as his gaze locks down at the child in his lap. John stares, his mouth dropped open slightly. Rosie meanwhile takes no notice of her boring parents, choosing instead to return her attentions to Billy.

"That  _would_ be our child's first word," John says with a huff of laughter, shaking his head and effectively breaking the spell. Sherlock smiles in delight, and Mary chuckles, laughter dancing in her green eyes.

Mary stands from her seat, John sits up and scoots closer, both of them meeting Sherlock at the center of the floor. They sit down crosslegged, surrounding their consulting detective as the three adults shower attention onto their daughter. Rosie relishes in their affections, holding out the skull for them to examine with her.

The sun continues to shine through the windows, bathing the room in a golden light as the family plays on the floor; lost in their own little world.

**Author's Note:**

> Now excuse me while I go cry in the corner.


End file.
